


Nobody Needs to Know

by ForbiddenInk



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Comfort, For all my kinky darlings out there, Gen, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Wetting, extremely gay, i guess, this is pure sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForbiddenInk/pseuds/ForbiddenInk
Summary: Nick gets himself into a rather difficult situation which can only turn out one of two ways: bad, or worse. Oh, why did it have to be him?





	Nobody Needs to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings! Today I bring you something I'm pretty proud of; I've put a lot of work into it and I'm really happy with the way it turned out. It was actually the first omo fanfic I ever wrote, and who better to begin with than my vintage gays? This one is, as most of my writing is, somewhat of an ongoing work in progress, so small details, phrasing, and the title are all subject to change, just so you're all aware! If it's not your thing, don't read it, don't comment; it's as simple as that ;) enjoy!~

Nick was completely absorbed in his thoughts as he gazed out the high window to his left at Gatsby’s dining table one midday, deaf to the drone of his neighbor’s voice beside him. He was lost in a memory from when he was a teenager, eyes fixed on a dying oak tree which stretched across the property line between his yard and Gatsby’s and reminded him of one from his youth that he still held vague, pointless memories about. It wasn’t until he was caught and his name invoked that he was startled out of his past.

 

“Say, Nick, are you listening?” Gatsby prompted him, and he jumped nearly a foot. Tearing his attention from the window, he met his host’s inquiring eyes and looked only mildly guilty.

 

“Excuse me, I was somewhere else,” He apologized, and after a pause, Gatsby seemed to accept that and give up on whatever story he’d been telling. He sat back in his chair across from Nick and lit another cigarette, looking him over with an unreadable expression for only another second. It left him to wonder what Gatsby was thinking, and he hoped it hadn’t been critical. 

 

A butler came over and swept away their dishes from luncheon and those remaining from tea only a bit before that as the two men sat in quiet company and let their just-finished meal digest. Nick adjusted his jacket on his shoulders, reminding himself that they’d made plans to go out on the bay with a few of Gatsby’s colleagues. He quietly hoped that these would be of the personal nature rather than business, as Gatsby’s business colleagues usually tended to unnerve him. As soon as all of the dishes were cleared and the table fixed to its usual immaculate state, Gatsby stood and Nick mirrored him. He had to pause, however, as he felt a twinge in his lower abdomen—likely due to the tea they’d had before and the ale during luncheon—and winced imperceptibly. It was much too vulgar a thing to voice at the dining table, even if they were just departing, and Nick knew that there would be a washroom on the yacht, so he merely clenched his fist a bit and started toward the doors at Gatsby’s heels. 

 

“Are you alright, old sport?” Gatsby asked him, apparently having noticed Nick’s subtle discomfort. A little embarrassed, Nick straightened up and nodded with a slight smile, confirming that he was perfectly fine. He didn’t wait to see what his neighbor did with the lie, or if he even noticed, and surged ahead of him a step or two as they headed for where the yacht was docked. Already a gathering of people had formed and begun boarding, a group which would have seemed a tad large to most, but in comparison with Gatsby’s excessive house parties, it was downright intimate. The host was able to get them through and boarded ahead of everyone else, and they found that there were still wait staff rushing around making final preparations for music and food and refreshments. However, the deck was quickly filling with guests moment by moment, and the crowding quarters paired with the rocking of the vessel was doing no favours for Nick’s situation. 

 

He left Gatsby talking with a few guests to go and try to find the washroom, which he assumed would be down below deck with the private recreation rooms. Though he passed a few guests on the way, most of those who he met were wait staff bringing food and refreshments up from the kitchen below. He was glad about this, preferring that to the alternative that he might run into someone he knew and get caught up in a conversation that would prevent him from his goal. Unfortunately for Nick, however, he couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for no matter where he wandered. He was about to give up and resolve simply not to drink anything until they were docked again or he had opportunity to leave, unhappy at the prospect of having to make nice with acquaintances through his discomfort, when he spotted Gatsby making his way down the stairs at the far end of the hall he stood in. The host appeared to be directing servants, but he waved curiously and started down toward Nick when he spotted him.

 

“What are you doing down here, old sport?” Nick smiled awkwardly and opened his mouth to respond, figuring there was no point in lying and hoping that Gatsby might be able to direct him to the right room. Just as he was about to speak, a group of wait staff carrying trays and arguing loudly amongst themselves came through the narrow passage and moved past the two men. With the lack of space, they had apparently decided to pass by Nick rather than Gatsby, and he found himself abruptly pressed tightly against the aforementioned, chest to chest. The way that Gatsby’s belt dug into Nick’s abdomen was anything but helpful and made him hiss and tense up; it took all of his concentration and strength not to leak a little while he was flattened against the man, and he realized how the position had multiplied his need.

 

It felt like forever they were pinned there, though in reality it only took the staff a couple of seconds to squeeze by, and by the time they were through Nick’s face was noticeably flushed. He glanced up and found his and Gatsby’s faces startlingly close, and he was staring right into a pair of purely unreadable blue eyes. Quickly, Nick stepped back away from him, but that turned out to be the wrong thing to do as the sudden motion and loss of pressure caused a small but worrying spot of warmth to appear at his tip. Glancing subtly down he could see that nothing was visible on the outside of his clothes, but he gulped nervously nonetheless. 

 

“Nick?” Gatsby asked, sounding confused at the former’s behavior. Nick quickly shook it off and tried to reassure him with a forced smile.

 

“I’m fine, I was just looking for the lavatory.” With that, Gatsby’s expression brightened in understanding.

 

“Ah, of course. It’s right down there, past the kitchen, at the end of that hall,” he gestured as he spoke, and Nick’s eyes followed where he pointed. “The door should be unlocked, I asked the servants to prepare all of that sort of thing ahead of time.” Nick nodded and thanked him, then began to head down that way as Gatsby went the other way back up to the main deck and the party.

 

His directions had been simple, so Nick saw no reason that he shouldn’t be able to find his way. However, after making sure that he followed everything Gatsby had said, he opened the door he’d been told and found…a closet. Why was this damn boat so difficult to navigate?! It seemed completely unreasonable to Nick and he nearly growled in irritation. He stood there thinking, trying to come up with a solution to his predicament and ended up with nothing. So he sighed and shook his head, resigning himself to his fate.

 

He returned to the main deck still feeling uncomfortably full, but it was easily under control and he was fairly sure that if he sat down he could fidget under the guise of the music and sit tensely without being questioned. Luckily for him, he found Gatsby sitting and talking with a few guests in a circle of large sofas in an open-air sitting room layout. He greeted Nick with a smile and a raised hand, still mid-conversation, as the latter sat down and silently refused the drink offered to him by a server. 

  
  


Things went on that way, Gatsby seeming perfectly at ease and oblivious to the way Nick constantly bounced his knee, tapping the ball of his foot against the deck as he sat at attention with his fingers curled on top of his knees. In an effort to distract himself from his need, Nick quietly watched his friend and how he interacted as he went about the party. The majority of the time he spent there on the couch, lounging with a girl or two and engaged in lighthearted conversation with anyone who came by. He’d had a few drinks which made his eyes sparkle and gave him almost an aura, an inviting, warm glow. It was the same energy which Gatsby always radiated during parties, and yet it never ceased to impress Nick and gain his admiration, as well as...something else, a feeling which he couldn’t quite identify.

 

Nick smiled and did his best to remain polite and engaged when Gatsby brought him into the conversation, too, a few moments later; he seemed to have noticed that he’d been sitting there silently for a while now. But such social distractions were turning out to be going quite well for him and keeping his mind occupied, and he was thinking that he might be able to make it out of this with no trouble. Of course, he should’ve known that the moment he got cocky, that would change.

 

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a group of slightly drunk girls stumbled over to them, and one of them threw herself—or she might have been pushed, he had no way of knowing for sure—into Nick’s lap. Caught by surprise and with the sudden weight on his lap, he felt himself lose one small, hot spurt and he let out a squawk-like sound. Giggling and apparently oblivious, the girl righted herself and apologized insincerely, but the damage was done. Whatever semblance of control over himself Nick had had before was gone, and he tensed and curled into himself as subtly as he could as a wave of nearly disastrous desperation came over him. He hissed and breathed slowly as he tried to regain control.

 

After a moment a sound registered in his mind that someone had been calling his name for some time, and he finally put together that it was Gatsby’s initially amused but soon worried voice, repeating, “Nick? Nick, are you quite alright, old sport? Nick?” When he finally had composed himself, he knew that he could not afford such a close call again. He peeked nervously at the front of his pants and was panicked to see a small but definitely noticeable wet spot there. Hardly sparing a glance at Gatsby, who had still gone un-acknowledged and was clearly concerned and a little startled, Nick jumped up and stuttered a short, “Ihavetogo!” in place of excusing himself properly. He ran for the stairs to the lower deck, determined to find the lavatory this time; he had no other choice. 

 

Nick tried to remember and follow the directions he’d been given before, but as he did in his flustered state he found himself lost again. He was losing hope, and as he was alone in an empty hallway in the lower deck, he allowed himself to squeeze both hands between his legs. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.  _ ‘I suppose this is where I’ll stay until we’re ashore again, then,’ _ he thought. He was so lost in his anxious thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly upon him.

 

Gatsby rounded the corner just as Nick’s hands flew back away from his crotch and he tried to quell the guilty look on his face. But Gatsby was plenty observant, and he could tell immediately that something was wrong. 

 

“There you are, what was that about? Is something the matter?” The taller man inquired genuinely, and he noticed how Nick’s hands twitched and his fingers flexed. In glancing at his hands, Gatsby apparently caught sight of the small dark spot on the front of Nick’s pants, and his eyes widened with realization as they flicked back up to meet Nick’s own.

 

“I thought you had-” Gatsby began.

 

Nick shook his head and cut him off, “I couldn’t find it.” He hoped that he didn’t look nearly as helpless as that had unintentionally sounded, but it was quite likely that he did indeed if going by the look on his friend’s face.

 

“Alright, don’t fret, we’ll find one.” He told Nick with resolve. “But, not here. Come.” Nick couldn’t help how deeply grateful he felt, and he nodded back as he followed Gatsby down the hall. “I don’t hold it against you. These things happen,” He added understandingly, and Nick would have smiled if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. It was looking like he might actually survive the day, but he refused to let himself ease up; that was what had happened last time, and that hope had been squashed. But Gatsby checked back on him often and kept an upbeat attitude which Nick was silently appreciative of.

 

As they turned down another hall, Gatsby told him that they were almost there, and as if on cue Nick felt another dribble leak out of him. He made the slightest sound and returned his hands between his legs to stop it before it could become any worse, even though to do so caused a twinge of pain in his bladder. The spot on the front of his pants had darkened a bit but hadn’t grown any bigger. When Nick looked back up at Gatsby, they made eye contact and he whispered, “Hurry!”

 

Just as Gatsby nodded, more footsteps sounded from just around the corner ahead of them. He looked at Nick, who shook his head urgently, and instead was forced to look around for some alternative place to hide until whoever it was passed. There was a door to his right, Nick’s left, which he figured would have to do, so he grabbed Nick’s elbow and ducked inside, closing the door just as a pair of guests stumbled over to where the two men had just been standing.

 

The jostling caused a new level of issue for Nick, and he had to double over, groaning as he leaned with one hand squeezing himself through his pants and the other on the central piece of furniture in the room, a large four-poster bed. Gatsby’s attention remained momentarily on the door, listening outside it until sounded as if the hall was once again empty. Once silence commenced, he turned excitedly back to Nick and urged him, “Come on, the coast is clear.” 

 

But as Nick moved to stand back up and felt himself leak again, he realized with horror that he didn’t think he would make it. He, a grown man, was about to disgrace himself in front of Jay Gatsby, a man who was his friendly acquaintance and neighbor, yes, but was, more importantly, one of the most well-known public figures in his town. What would he do if Gatsby told anyone, other than nearly die of mortification? But the man seemed still oblivious at that moment.

 

“Nick? Come on, old sport, don’t give up now!” He encouraged him, moving over to take him by the arm and lead him out, but Nick jerked his arm away and snapped at him in a panicked tone.

 

“I can’t move, Jay!” He hissed again and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, twisting one leg around the other and sinking even lower, bent at the waist and knees. The younger groaned and softly muttered, “Oh, it hurts…” Gatsby looked startled and froze, gazed down at Nick in genuine sympathy. He was quiet for several moments, and the only sound in the room was Nick’s shallow, ragged breathing and occasional whimpers.

 

“It’s alright, old sport. These things happen,” he repeated. “Holding on any longer could be unhealthy. Just…just go.” Nick looked up at him, stricken and shocked as if he had grown a second head.

 

“What are you saying?! I-I can’t! I can’t just-” Gatsby shook his head and stopped him.

 

“Not a soul will ever know but you and I, I swear. You’re just torturing yourself now.” He reasoned, and Nick hated the logic in it and how badly he wanted to comply. But he would not piss himself like a child! Not when he still had hope. Steeling his resolve, he forced himself to stand back up in some vague semblance of control over himself. He opened his mouth to say “let’s go”, but before a single breath could leave him, his face went sheet white. Acutely aware of where Gatsby’s wide eyes were also fixed, he watched a large spot on the front of his pants suddenly darken and grow until it began to trickle down one pant leg.

 

Nick cursed and grabbed himself through the fabric to stop the flow, but there was no more hope for his pants. There was a large dark blotch across the crotch and a clear dark streak going down his right pant leg, stopping just below his knee, but there were several drips on the floor next to his foot now. His face burned dark red and he couldn’t look at Gatsby, couldn’t bring himself to see what the man’s reaction might have been. He expected Gatsby to speak, but whatever he’d thought he’d say, it hadn’t been expected in nearly the soft, gentle tone the taller man used.

 

“Nick. You must be in pain,” He surmised, and while Nick didn’t respond, he continued as if he had. “Then just let go. It’s not a big deal.” He promised him. Nick refused to accept it, though, and he shook his head defiantly. Gatsby made a little irritated sigh, and Nick braced for the reprimanding he was sure was about to follow. However, instead of speaking further, the man moved forward.

 

Gatsby stepped right up to Nick and pressed them practically flush together, to Nick’s surprise; he seemed the opposite of how disgusted he’d expected him to be. But the man further surprised him as he placed one hand against the small of Nick’s back. With the other hand, he pressed his fingertips against Nick’s abdomen, causing him to gasp and lose another large spurt, further darkening the front of his pants. 

 

“No, stop!” He exclaimed, trying to push Gatsby away, especially as he watched a trickle of urine run from his own pant leg onto Gatsby’s. But he refused to be moved, and as he pressed on Nick’s bladder again he repeated his encouragement.

 

“Just go. It will hurt a lot less; holding it so long is unhealthy.” His tone was stern but calm, and he gave Nick a firm look even though Nick refused to see it. He gasped and lost an even worse spurt which he almost couldn’t regain control over. All hope was lost for salvaging his pants, and truthfully he knew that there was no sense in continuing to hold on. He bit into Gatsby’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he finally gave in and let go.

 

With a strangled moan of relief, Nick finally relaxed and the patch on the front of his pants spread and rapidly darkened as he began flooding them, soaking the both of them with warm liquid in the process. For what felt like forever, the room was silent except for a soft hissing sound and relieved, borderline obscene moans from Nick. The two men remained pressed flush together for the duration of this, and still didn’t move as the flow finally slowed and Nick caught his breath. He leaned his head against Gatsby’s shoulder and neck, still in a bit of a haze from the intensity of the experience, but when he finally came back to himself and realized…

 

Nick’s face and neck flared with a fierce blush and he looked quickly up at Gatsby’s face, purely mortified. He was shocked to find a complete lack of even the smallest amount of disdain there; instead, the taller man smiled gently and understandingly.

 

“Better?” He asked quite genuinely. 

 

“I-I…oh, God, I’m so sorry…” Nick abruptly pushed back from Gatsby, beginning to panic over the mess— both of their pants were completely soaked, in truth it was difficult to tell whose accident it had been. He’d…had he actually just  _ pissed _ on  _ Jay Gatsby?!?! _ Feeling like he might be sick with mortification, he stared at Gatsby in complete confusion. The man seemed completely unaffected by what Nick had just done, and on his clothes, too!   
  
“Why aren’t you angry or disgusted with me?!” He demanded to know, gesturing pointedly at the large puddle on the floor and both of their dripping trousers. He might’ve been losing it a little, but he was still slightly in shock and his nerves were shot.

 

“Why should I be? It wasn’t intentional. It’s no problem at all, old sport. I’ll have someone clean this up, and you can borrow a spare suit. I’m sure I could even get your clothes cleaned and back to you before the day’s out.” Gatsby smiled optimistically, which only confounded Nick further.

 

“B-But I just-! I just…!” He gestured again frantically at the mess. Gatsby’s smile began to waver, in favour of something confused but comforting. He took a tentative step toward Nick, and only once he was sure he would be allowed to come so close did he place a gentle hand on the side of Nick’s jaw.

 

“Relax, old sport, I’m not angry. Nor do I blame you; if anything, I should’ve been a more attentive host.” He stopped the protest that Nick began to form before it could leave his mouth. “But assigning blame does no good now. It happened, and now it’s in the past.”

 

_ ‘That’s rich, coming from Gatsby of all people.’ _ Nick thought.

 

Gatsby was very close now; Nick could feel the warmth of his breath ghost over his cheeks, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable sort of closeness. Rather, he felt...warm, and a bit like every nerve in his body was sparking. It was a foreign feeling, but not unpleasant in the slightest. He was finally beginning to relax and allow Gatsby’s reassuring words to calm his embarrassment.

 

“Thank you…” He felt compelled to say, though it came out softer than he’d expected. It was as if he was subconsciously afraid to speak too loudly, for fear of shattering whatever moment had been sustained between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to leave all your lovely kudos and comments, they're always appreciated!
> 
> Now, there is a sort of part two to this one which exists but which I was unsure about posting. If you guys wish, though, I'd be glad to post it. Tell me what you think, and if that seems like something you'd like to see!


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